


help hold me steady

by cursedway



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crying, Daddy Issues, Dubious Consent, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Incest, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mommy Issues, Oral Sex, Parental Death, Touch-Starved, asking for a friend, fellas is it gay to get a bj from ur pseudo-brother in ur dad's hospital room while he's in a coma?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedway/pseuds/cursedway
Summary: Tim's dad is in a coma. Dick does his best to comfort him.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	help hold me steady

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags. Tagged "dubious consent" because Tim is a) about 15-16, and b) not in a good place mentally.
> 
> 90% of this was written while I had the flu, and my editing is minimal at best.
> 
> This is pretty fucked up and this is your warning. Enjoy!

The quiet beep of the heart monitor keeps even time as Tim sits by his dad’s bed. Tim is ashamed to admit that it’s been almost a week since he’d last visited, but his dad looks essentially the same that he’d looked the last time Tim had been there: pale and still against the clinical background of the hospital room. Dad’s chest rises and falls to the low rasp of the ventilator with the same regularity as the heart monitor. The consistency is more suffocating than comforting, stagnant rather than steadying.

Tim holds his dad’s hand. It’s cool and dry in Tim’s hands, limp and unmoving. Tim can feel his dad’s pulse in it, and he counts those, matches his breathing to it rather than any of the monitors his dad’s hooked up to. It feels more real, more tangible, like Dad is still alive like he’s supposed to be.

Tim takes a shuddering breath, holds it. He slumps forward in his chair, presses Dad’s hand against his forehead as though he were praying, and tries not to fall apart.

The sound of the window sliding open is half-hidden under the noise of the machines. Tim is hyper-aware of every sound in the room, but he doesn’t turn around. Tim stays where he’s bent over and squeezes his eyes shut. The footsteps on the cheap linoleum aren’t nearly heavy enough to be Batman’s, even if they’re just as quiet. 

“Hey,” Nightwing says from behind Tim. His voice is low and soft. “B said you didn’t come home from school, and I thought you’d be here.”

Tim doesn’t say anything. He exhales, feels his breath bounce against his dad’s wrist back to his own skin.

“Tim?” Dick asks, concern colouring his tone. There’s another soft footstep, Dick’s voice getting closer. “Is everything -”

Tim’s fingers tighten around Dad’s hand. He presses Dad’s knuckles harder against his forehead. “They’re thinking about taking him off life support.”

Dad’s lawyers - Ms Greene, a severe, broad-shouldered woman Tim had known in passing since childhood and Mr Brough, a younger blond man with a New Yorker accent - had asked Tim to meet them after school. Bruce had some important teleconference call at WE, and Tim had assured him over and over that he would be fine to go alone.

Tim had met them in a quiet bistro where they had, with kind eyes and words dripping with pity, laid out all the details of his Dad’s condition: more than five weeks in a coma, minimal responses to applied stimuli, and gradually decreasing brain activity. They were all things Tim had already known - both from hours spent sitting by his father’s bedside, and sleepless nights in the Cave hacking the hospital files. But there, tucked away in the back of the restaurant with the low hum of background conversations, having it told to him in such a gentle way, had made tears prick at Tim’s eyes.

They had let him excuse himself, and Tim had spent a timed three minutes letting tears drip silently down his face in a bathroom stall.

“We aren’t going to take any action without your approval, Tim,” Ms Greene had told him, putting a careful hand on his shoulder once he’d returned. “But right now… the prognosis isn’t good.”

“Shit, Tim,” Dick - Nightwing - says, dragging him back to the present. “I’m so sorry.”

Tim shrugs. He grips his dad’s hand tighter, tighter to the point where it must have to be painful, but his dad’s hand stays limp in his. “I mean -” Tim clears his throat, tries to make himself sound less pathetic. “It’s not that surprising, you know? Most comas should only last a few weeks, and Mom - Mom didn’t make it. So it shouldn’t - it shouldn’t -”

“Tim.” Dick’s voice is suddenly much closer. Tim opens his eyes to Dick’s face right in front of his. And it is Dick, not Nightwing - his mask gone and his blue eyes looking right into Tim’s.

Tim drops his dad’s hand from his forehead, and tips forward to bury his face in Dick’s shoulder. He keeps one hand holding onto his dad’s and uses his other to clutch at Dick as tightly as he can. The kevlar-leather blend is warm and slick under Tim’s face as he sobs against it. 

It’s so stupid. _Tim_ is so stupid - he had expected it, for Dad to go too. He shouldn’t be this upset about it, because his parents being dead-gone didn’t feel much different from them being absent-gone. There had been a handful of mornings over the last two months where Tim had woken up, gone downstairs and thought _what country are Mom and Dad in today?_ before he would remember. Those were also the mornings where Bruce would kneel down in front of Tim, put his hands on Tim’s shoulders and tell him to _breathe, Tim, breathe_.

Tim’s house was just as empty now as it had been before his mom’s heart had stopped beating and his dad had been tied up in tubes, confined to a hospital bed. The only real difference is that now Tim can stop waiting for them to get home, even though he’s still waiting for Dad to wake up.

A hand moves to cradle the back of Tim’s head, steadying him, and another rubs circles in between his shoulders, firm and soothing. Tim can’t suppress the shudder that runs through his body.

When was the last time Tim’s parents had touched him like this, held him? His mom had, when Tim younger and clingier. When Mom got back from digs she would let Tim climb into her lap and sit there while she wrote up a catalogue of all the artifacts they’d brought back with them. Tim would rest his head on her shoulder and watch the flowing motion of her favourite ballpoint pen until he fell asleep. But as Tim had gotten older, that had faded away.

The only time Tim can remember his dad touching him the way Dick is now is when Tim had a fever of one-oh-four. Dad had been the only one home, because Mom had gotten stuck at the Vancouver airport due to a snowstorm. Tim had stumbled, delirious with fever, into Dad’s study and proceeded to burst into tears. He can’t remember why he did - he’d had a nightmare, maybe - but Dad had held him, rubbed his back and shushed him in the same way Dick is right now.

“ _Di-dick_ ,” Tim whines suddenly, high-pitched and desperate. He’s gasping for breath, almost choking, his chest heaving violently.

“Tim,” Dick says, pulling away. He starts to wipe the tears off of Tim’s face as they drip down his cheeks. “You gotta calm down.”

Tim shakes his head. He feels out of control, his body not listening to his head, not listening to Dick even though Tim usually tries to listen to him.

“ _Tim,_ ” Dick says more urgently. The hand on the back of Tim’s head dips to cup his neck. Dick presses his thumb into a pressure point there.

The sudden pain has Tim jolting in his seat. He gasps, the sudden inhale breaking up his weezing sobs. He starts to breathe again, harshly, but actually taking in air rather than suffocating on it.

Dick eases up a little, keeping his grip firm but no longer painful. He makes soft, pleased sounds as Tim’s breath starts to even out and slow.

“You okay?” Dick asks. His hand is guiding Tim’s chin up. Dick’s eyes are still wary, but bright and alive. He’s looking at Tim, and Tim doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone look at him the way Dick is; he doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone see him the way that Dick does.

Before Tim knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning forward, and -

He’s kissing him. Dick is statue still, and for a second Tim panics, thinks he’s fucked everything up, but then Dick starts to move. He tilts Tim’s chin, maneuvers him to deepen the kiss. It’s not Tim’s first kiss, but it’s the first time he’s kissed someone that he’s been dreaming about kissing since that was something he wanted to do.

Dick is the first to pull back. He rests his forehead against Tim’s, staring intently at Tim with an unreadable expression. His breath feels warm against Tim’s already heated face.

“Tim,” Dick says. He slides his hand to cup the back of Tim’s neck, moving his thumb in light circles and making him shiver. “Is this what you want?”

Tim swallows. Tim wants his dad to wake up. Wants his mom to not be six feet under. He wants the two of them gone to not feel the exact same way as them being there felt. He wants the anger, the fury at them and the world to stop feeling like it’s going to eat him alive.

Tim tilts his head, slotting their lips back together, and whispers, “ _Yes,_ ” against Dick’s mouth.

Dick’s mouth is hot and firm. He doesn’t seem to mind that Tim has no idea what he’s doing, just guides Tim gently, nipping lightly at Tim’s bottom lip and coaxing Tim’s tongue into his mouth so he can suck on it. It’s warm and wet and feels so good that Tim’s toes curl in his shoes. The muscles in Tim’s arms tense and relax, tense and relax. His fingers are trembling, on Dick’s broad, solid shoulder and against his dad’s cool, limp hand. He should let go, but part of him doesn’t want to - like if he lets go Dad will slip away, like Tim will lose him already.

A touch to Tim’s thigh has him jumping. He breaks the kiss and pants as Dick spreads his legs and kneels between them. Dick trails his mouth along Tim’s jaw and down his neck, sucking and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses. Dick’s hands roam over Tim’s body, tracing the lines of muscle and bone over his thin shirt.

Tim stills when Dick’s hands dip below his waist. Deft fingers undo the button of Tim’s jeans, but instead of pulling down the fly right away they dip under Tim’s shirt and start to rub circles on the bare skin of his stomach.

“Too much?” Dick asks in his ear, running his tongue along the shell.

Tim shudders and shakes his head. “Please.” Dick kisses the side of Tim’s neck.

The sound of the opening zipper is quiet, almost lost among the beeping heart monitor and the rasp of the ventilator. Dick is gentle when he reaches into Tim’s boxers and pulls out his cock. Tim is hard, and while he hadn’t been unaware of the growing discomfort and tightness in his pants, Tim hadn’t made the connection between that and being touched and kissed by the man he’d been in love with for practically his whole life.

The cold air meeting his hot flesh makes him shiver. Tim can feel sweat gathering in the creases of his palms, making his grip on Dick’s shoulder slicker and soaking the paper hospital sheets. Dick’s hand is warm and careful as he runs the pads of his fingers across the head of Tim’s cock, down the shaft, and then back up again. The rough drag of the Nightwing gauntlets against the thin, sensitive skin has Tim keening and panting embarrassingly. He does his best to fight the urge to buck up against the delicious friction, but still ends up squirming in his plastic fold-up chair.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Dick soothes. His other hand brushes the hair out of Tim’s eyes. “It’s okay, baby.”

Tim gasps. His cock twitches under Dick’s fingers.

Dad called him _sport_ sometimes. Mom had called him _sweetheart_ , but that was rarer, in notes left on tables and years-old voicemails Tim had never deleted. Dick calls him _little brother_ , and at first Tim had thought it was a joke. But the way it came out so easily, intentionally unlike Dad’s stilted attempt at bonding and Mom’s forced endearments, had made Tim start to think that Dick meant it.

Tim doesn’t think he’d mind if Dick called him _little brother_ right now, even if that maybe makes him fucked up. But _baby_ is nicer than Tim thought it would ever be; it makes Tim’s stomach clench and heat spark down his spine, but more than that it makes him feel _safe_ , like the word is a reassurance that Dick will take care of him.

Dick presses a kiss to Tim’s temple. “Baby,” he murmurs again. 

Tim whimpers, which then turns into a choked cry when Dick’s fingers twist the head of Tim’s cock. Dick smiles against his skin and traces a twisting line down Tim’s neck with his tongue. Tim shivers as the saliva cools.

Dick sucks on the hollow of Tim’s throat before saying, “I’m gonna suck you off, baby.”

Tim hasn’t even processed the words when Dick bends over and drags his tongue over Tim’s slit, licking away the precome dripping from it. Tim’s hips jerk against Dick’s grip. He lets go of Dad’s hand to slap a hand across his mouth and muffle the noises trying to escape. Dick sucks the head of Tim’s cock into his mouth, lips creating a tight, wet seal. The inside of Dick’s mouth is so hot, adding the burning heat that keeps building in Tim’s belly.

Dick’s tongue laves back and forth across the sensitive head as he sinks further and further down, taking more of Tim’s cock into his mouth. If Tim was shaky before, now he’s trembling all over - his teeth clicking together and knees twitching involuntarily. Tim wants to move his hips, fuck up into the wet pressure of Dick’s mouth, but the one-handed grip Dick has around his hip is enough to keep him still.

The head of Tim’s cock bumps against the smooth back of Dick’s throat, but instead of choking like Tim was expecting, he swallows it down into the even tighter heat of his throat.

Tim gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head as his balls tighten and his vision goes white and blurred. His spine curves forward as he comes down Dick’s throat, his hand leaving his mouth to hold onto Dick’s other shoulder in an attempt not to collapse on Dick.

Tim pants as his hips twitch minutely. Dick helps him come down, keeping Tim in his mouth, not sucking but moving his tongue gently along the underside of it. Tim whimpers, pulling at Dick’s hair when it becomes too much and the oversensitivity makes his stomach start to ache with how tight it’s wound.

Dick pulls off and wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. He reaches up and cups Tim’s face.

“Oh, baby,” he says, his voice sounding wrecked and sad. Tim is confused until he feels the wetness on his face that Dick is brushing away and oh, he’s still crying, isn’t he.

Dick kisses Tim again, open-mouthed and messy. His lips feel swollen under Tim’s, hotter than they had been before. He tastes like salt and something thick and bitter, and Tim moans shakily when he realizes he’s tasting himself on Dick’s tongue.

There’s less heat to it this time, the repetitive movement of Dick’s tongue against his is more soothing than anything else. Tim feels himself relaxing, shoulders slumping as he rests more of his weight on Dick. Dick pulls away from Tim’s mouth, reaches down to tuck Tim back into his boxers and do up his jeans.

Tim leans back in his chair. He rubs at his eyes; they feel sore and swollen, and Tim knows they’ll feel worse tomorrow. “Sorry,” he says, not looking at Dick.

“It’s okay,” Dick tells him. There’s a beat of silence before Dick says, “Tim.”

Tim sniffles, scrubs harder at his face until Dick’s hand wraps around his wrist, stilling him. When he can finally force himself to meet Dick’s eyes again, Dick is looking at him will a careful expression, like Tim might crumble under the weight of his gaze alone.

“Tim,” Dick says again. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay? You’re not alone, even if it feels like it.”

Tim nods, numb. “Okay,” he practically whispers.

Dick gives him a faint smile. His thumb caresses the soft underside of Tim’s wrist, leaving a line of goosebumps. Tim looks away, suddenly embarrassed. His eyes drop down, and -

Dick is hard.

Tim feels a blush start to rise on his face. The outline of Dick’s cock is obvious with how tight his suit is, straining against the fabric. Tim can't imagine how uncomfortable it must be.

 _I did that,_ Tim thinks almost hysterically. He feels his own cock, still soft and spent, twitch in his jeans. 

“Do -” Tim croaks, like he’s the one who just had a cock down his throat. “Do you want me to -”

Dick shifts a little. “It’s fine, Tim, you don’t have to.”

Tim feels a small spike of annoyance. Like Tim _wouldn’t_ want to touch Dick the same ways that he had just touched Tim. “I want to,” he says, and reaches forward to touch Dick.

Dick tightens his hold on Tim’s wrist. Tim looks up at him and shrinks a little under his intense, worried gaze.

“Not now, okay?” Dick says gently. Tim nods, and drops his hand when Dick lets go of his wrist.

It’s quiet for a beat, nothing but the steady hum of hospital machinery. It drags Tim back to the present - to the reality that his dad is still lying not three feet away from him and might not ever wake up.

“Are you okay to get home by yourself?” Dick asks. “I can change and come back, if you want. We can go back to the Manor, watch some movies,” he offers.

Tim swallows. He looks past Dick, over his shoulder, to Dad. “I think - I think I’m gonna stay. Spend the night.”

Dick nods. He kisses Tim’s forehead before standing. “Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Tim says. He flashes Dick a weak smile.

Dick slips out the window, closing it behind him. Tim picks up his dad’s hand again. It’s still just as limp, just as cold, as it had been before.

The heart monitor keeps beeping.


End file.
